


Harvey Specter's Stupid, Sentiment-Riddled Heart

by dr_ducktator



Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-07
Updated: 2013-03-07
Packaged: 2017-12-04 14:23:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/711701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dr_ducktator/pseuds/dr_ducktator
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harvey Specter didn't fall in love. Except when he did. And it was all Mike-fucking-Ross's fault.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Harvey Specter's Stupid, Sentiment-Riddled Heart

**Author's Note:**

> My very first _Suits _fic. It's a little fluffy. And a little fairy tale-ish at the end. But in a good way. No one turns into a princess or anything.__

Harvey stood staring out the window of his office. It was late, the building assuredly empty, and as he looked out over New York City, his city, _The_ City, on the turntable Jc Brooks was singing about a light shining all night, and Harvey couldn’t take his mind off Mike. 

It didn’t help that he was listening to something he’d never in a million years have chosen on his own. He internally cursed goddamned Mike and his goddamned insistence on getting him to listen to something a little more contemporary. To be fair, though, Mike had chosen well. Jc Brooks and the Uptown Sound fit in really well with the rest of his collection. Not that he would ever, ever tell Mike that.

Harvey grinned to himself. He enjoyed fucking with Mike. Harvey knew if the kid could survive the bullshit he dished out, the brush-offs, the stern tones, the instilling in him of the fear of God, and the promises of wrath, he’d be just fine down the line.

 _Down the line. Without me_ , Harvey thought. The grin on his face disappeared as quickly as it had come.

He shook the thought off, but another one surfaced immediately: _When did I start to give a shit about anyone other than myself?_

He wondered who he was bullshitting now.

What Harvey knew but refused to acknowledge to anyone other than himself – and even that was rare – was that he cared a whole hell of a lot about numerous people other than himself. He'd wanted to murder Louis for the way he’d treated Donna on the stand, he'd held back from hugging Jessica – both out of self-preservation (Jessica had threatened to disembowel Harvey for trying to hug her when she’d told him she wanted to send him to Harvard) and to refuse to appear emotionally attached – when she’d told him her ex-husband was dying, Scottie damn near fucked up law school for him, and well, there were others he didn’t feel like thinking about.

But Mike? Mike was different. He could compartmentalize everyone else, but he couldn’t box Mike. Everything about Mike defied classification and itemization. He was messy. Messy drove Harvey up the wall.

Despite all of these feelings of caring he felt for the people in his life, what he felt for Mike, or about Mike, was something else entirely. He felt pulled to Mike. At first it was the kid’s utter audacity, stupidity, bravery, snark, and fragile self-assuredness. Now it was because Mike had gotten under his skin in ways no one else had. Harvey actually pined for Mike. Yeah. Pined. 

So when it came down to it, sure, Harvey cared. But Harvey Specter didn’t pine. Except when he did. And it was all Mike-fucking-Ross’s fault.

So, how did Harvey handle his stupid, sentiment-riddled heart? Let’s just say that if he were an old-school mobster, his heart would have ended up inside a cement-filled box, sleeping with the fishes. 

Shutting down was always easier than opening up. But stupid Mike was making the former much more difficult than the latter as of late.

See, Harvey had gotten really good at blocking his emotions; he’d justified his position on the matter to Mike time and again. He prided himself on the ability to remain aloof, often reminding clients that giving a shit about anyone other than yourself could never do you any good. And if he was dealing with the mushier members of his clientele, well, he would steer them toward the luxurious accommodations available in I-Don’t-Give-A-Fuck-I’m-Looking-Out-For-Number-Onesville without them ever realizing they could have told him no.

He wasn’t the best goddamned closer in the city for nothing. 

Harvey had resolved to quash the feelings he had for the brainiac, blue-eyed, blonde with the obscene amount of potential. But even thinking of Mike in those terms meant he gave a shit; and not only did he give a shit, but the shit that he gave was edging into lovey-dovey territory. 

Harvey Specter did not do lovey-dovey. Except when he wanted to, and he never wanted to. Except when he did. And it was all Mike-fucking-Ross’s fault.

Matters worsened when he’d caught himself thinking of blonde hair and blue eyes in the middle of a deposition. Luckily Mike pulled some file out of thin air and saved them all from a very awkward silence. 

Harvey was fucked, and he knew it. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t fight it like hell.

Over the following weeks his plan to expunge all emotional attachment to Mike that wasn’t absolutely necessary to his job was going along rather swimmingly, actually. Harvey never wavered in his behavior toward Mike. He was just as much as a hard ass as he ever was, and keeping busy helped keep his mind off things he shouldn’t think about.

Idol hands and all that noise. So Harvey kept his hands busy with work and women.

Then, one night after Harvey had been running around talking to clients he couldn’t trust with anyone but himself, he had arrived back at his office to find Mike sitting on his couch engrossed in files.

Mike hadn’t noticed Harvey’s presence because he was too involved in his work, so Harvey allowed himself to look. Or, well, he couldn’t really help himself, so you could probably say he succumbed to the overpowering urge to observe.

He was usually too busy trying to actively ignore Mike – the kid yammered so much about insignificant details that Harvey had learned to pay attention only when absolutely necessary – so in that moment he took the rare opportunity to see how Mike’s mind worked when it didn’t have an audience . It was fascinating, really; Mike’s eyes moved rapidly over the documents, and he’d pause now and then to make a note. Mike even smiled to himself, eyes bright with discovery before popping open his yellow highlighter.

Harvey’s chest tightened a little; fucking emotions and their refusal to listen to reason. He’d been doing well ignoring his attraction to Mike. He bombarded his own brain with reasons why they should not, could not, would not work. But seeing Mike doing whatever the hell it was that he did, seeing that mind in motion, being privy to those machinations, undid the weeks of cement and bricks Harvey had been stacking in a nice little wall around his heart.

No matter what, he knew he needed to move. He wasn’t sure how long he’d stood watching Mike work, but he couldn’t take the risk of Mike seeing him first; that would lead to a barrage of questions. Mike’s brain demanded new information incessantly, and Harvey hated when that demand was turned on him. Well, except when the answers he provided to Mike’s questions put that holy-shit-you’re-a-deity look on Mike’s face. But that wasn’t important right now. What was important was action.

Temporary insanity: that’s what Harvey would later claim. He would even testify, under oath if necessary, that his actions were brought on by a delusion caused by a rush of emotions. He clearly wasn’t in his right mind when he charged into his office, hauled a “Harvey, you scared the shit out of me!” yelling Mike, and kissed him within an inch of his life.

Harvey had Mike plastered against him, his initial fright from Harvey’s sneak attack having subsided, and he participated happily in the kissing. And it was getting really good, too. You know, just this side of filthy, with groping and whimpering, when Harvey heard it: his record player was on, and it wasn’t one of his records playing.

Goddamned, motherfucking Mike Ross had touched his shit. The rational part of Harvey’s brain wrested control from that rat-bastard traitor of his heart and broke the kiss.

Mike looked dazed. Harvey was not going to let that fact deter him, no matter how goddamned beautiful Mike was just then. Gaining a bit of his senses back, Harvey needed to keep the situation from nearing train wreck territory. 

So, rather deliberately, he took a step back, not breaking eye contact with Mike, shifted his body slightly, extended his left arm to point in the direction of his turntable, and with his best furious Harvey-face and a voice full of venom asked, “What the fuck is that on my record player, Mike?”

Clearly that was not what Mike thought would be the topic of conversation.

“I think,” Mike said, eyebrows raised, “there are more impor--”

Harvey cut him off mid-sentence, and continued in a quiet, dangerous voice. “Just answer the goddamned question, Mike.”

Mike closed his mouth, which, Harvey noticed despite its looking thoroughly and impressively kissed, had been hanging open. He opened it again to speak.

“Look, Harvey, I’m sorry. I was working and I wanted to listen to something that wasn’t like, sad bastard music, you know?”

Harvey felt some of the tension leave him; Mike didn’t appear to be fleeing. And it wasn’t one of his records Mike was no doubt endangering. Plus, Mike had just lobbed a movie quote at him, probably as a peace offering. Banter. That Harvey could do. Banter was like breathing, and Harvey needed air.

Harvey had surprised the shit out of himself with that kiss; that’s not at all what he’d meant to do. But once he was in the kiss he certainly hadn’t intended on breaking it. But his hyper-awareness of his records had knocked some sense into him. He didn’t have time to evaluate the whole of what had just happened. But he knew he reacted to everything so differently now; he was so emotional. And it was all Mike-fucking-Ross’s fault.

Okay, it was all his stupid, sentiment-riddled heart’s fault. And Mike-fucking-Ross’s fault, too. 

Harvey felt his shoulders sag a little, but he allowed himself a weak smile. He had to admit defeat. He had to put himself out there. But he was going to do it his way; he was going to save face. “Okay, first?” He held up a finger. “You know not to touch my stuff. Second?” Another finger. “You’re going to pull a _High Fidelity_ quote on me? Like I wouldn’t catch that?” Mike smiled at him, clearly pleased Harvey picked up on the reference. 

Harvey continued, holding up his thumb and gesturing back to the record player with it, “And third, you still haven’t answered my question. What is this?”

Mike visibly relaxed, though Harvey could tell he’d rattled the hell out of the kid. “Um, it’s The Airborne Toxic Event. They’re one of my favorite bands.” He waved a dismissive hand in the turntable’s direction. “It won’t happen again, Harvey. I’m sorry. I just needed something familiar while I worked.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “Now, can we please talk about what just happened?”

If there’s one thing Harvey liked, it was being in control of a situation. He decided to make sure Mike knew Harvey was in control, even though he really wasn’t. Harvey was offering his stupid, sentiment-riddled heart on a platter. 

Harvey smirked and walked over to the record player. He lifted the needle and took the offending record off the player and walked it back over Mike.  
Mike took the record but didn’t return it to its sleeve. “Harvey, you’re killing me here. What the fuck was that?”

Instead of answering, Harvey rolled his eyes and turned to his records. He pulled one out and put it on to play. He stood listening, turned away from Mike.

Mike sounded a little panicky now. “Okay, Harvey, ha ha, I get it. Joke’s on me. That kiss was just to fuck with me, right? Like some kind of weird punishment for screwing with your stuff?”

Harvey turned back to Mike but did not respond. He walked back into Mike’s space at a painfully slow pace. He was on thin ice and he knew it. That didn’t mean he couldn’t screw with Mike a little. Despite having all these feelings for Mike it wasn't like Harvey had suddenly become a saint. 

Mike continued on, more agitated than before. “Was it? Punishment? Because I don’t get it. Usually you farm me out to Louis, or make me stay in the same room as Jessica for longer than I can handle. But a kiss? What the hell kind of punishment is that?" He paused and his eyes widened to new proportions. "Oh god, was it like, some plan to get me fired via sexual harassment, because Harvey I--”

“Can the histrionics, Chicken Little, and listen.” Harvey nodded toward the music. Despite the nearly paralyzing fear he refused to let show, he reached out and hooked a finger in one of Mike’s belt loops. He gave a little tug and Mike inched forward.

“This is Otis,” Harvey said in his soft, soothing Harvey-voice. Harvey knew he needed to reassure Mike; he’d gotten him a little too wound up. At the same time, however, he knew the risk he was taking. It scared him, so bravado was his natural reaction; his self-preservation instincts kicked in. 

He leaned forward and kissed the corner of Mike’s mouth. “I love Otis,” he said, and moved to kiss Mike just below his ear. 

Mike’s breath caught. Harvey found the sound incredibly sexy. Mike turned his head and captured Harvey’s mouth in a gentle kiss. Harvey felt Mike smile against his lips. “ _Pretty in Pink_ , Harvey? I didn’t take you for a John Hughes fan.”

Harvey smiled and turned away. He picked up Mike’s messenger bag and started stuffing files into it, trying to seem as business-as-usual as possible before saying, “Everyone loves Duckie. Duckie is the man. Andie chose poorly. Now, do you want to try and argue that I’m wrong and defend Blane’s honor, or do you want to go to my place?”

Mike reached for his bag, obviously eager to get on board with the plan to go to Harvey’s. Harvey shut off the music while Mike put the rest of his files in his bag. 

Harvey indicated that Mike should leave the office first, but as he was about to turn off the lights and follow him out, Mike turned abruptly and with a deer-in-the-headlights look on his face, opened his mouth to speak.

Harvey intercepted, answering the question he knew Mike was going to ask. “Yes,” Harvey said. “We will talk about this. We will talk about this all you want. Tomorrow. Now go.” He made a shooing motion with his hands. “You have record player abuse to atone for tonight.”

Mike picked up the pace.

_________________________________________________________________

And later on, Harvey would apologize for that first kiss. He didn’t like to apologize because he never really thought apologies were ever warranted when it came to his interactions with people. But he knew kissing Mike that way was a horrible way to start things, not to mention it was totally creepy. 

And in response to the apology Mike, who was already pretty close to Harvey on the bed, would move in even closer. He would prop himself up, give Harvey his best serious-face, and say, “Apology accepted, but only on the condition that I retain the full right to ridicule you for that, without fear of retribution, forever.” 

And Harvey would refuse to respond, opting instead to give Mike the blank, yet pointed stare he was so great at giving. 

And Mike would badger him about it, would try to get Harvey to concede the tiniest bit of ground. 

And Harvey and his stupid, sentiment-riddled heart would love every goddamned minute of it because he was in love. 

And it was all Mike-fucking-Ross’s fault.


End file.
